


before we turn to ash

by malreves



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2020-10-06 01:20:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20498531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malreves/pseuds/malreves
Summary: there was a kingdom to rebuild, if only she knew how to





	1. Chapter 1

It was almost as if here wasn’t home anymore. As if these hallways that she had memorized had suddenly become a stranger to her, the warmth of the room gone and its place a pronounced chill had taken over. Grigory was dead and all the comfort she had once found in the never ending rooms had all but vanished overnight. 

Vira finished dressing, pulling on her notorious black Captain’s jacket. She was grateful that the black epaulettes caught little attention in this somber time, unlike the ostentatious gold ones that had adorned Grisha’s favourite jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a neat braid, her ceremonial rapier hitched to her belt. 

The ache of today already sunk heavy in her bones despite the sun’s early spill over the horizon. Nikolai would be Tzar and she would be the head of  _ his _ kingsguard. The pain Grisha left in her burned fresh in her chest, sharp at the thought of kneeling to someone new, even if it felt as though she knew Nikolai better than Grisha at times. 

A quiet knock sounded on her door and Vira looked up at the sound. 

“Come in,” she called, her voice strong and clear. 

Pytor stepped into the room, shutting the heavy door quietly behind him.

Petya was dressed more ceremonially than she was, something she could defer from since she wasn’t actually from Rhos, nor part of the royal family like Petya was. Though he wasn’t in line for the throne himself, Petya ranked high enough that he was in full dress regalia, down to the bright epaulettes on his shoulders, the buttons on his coat polished to a shine, sash pinned neatly across his chest. He had taken the time to comb back his brown hair and neaten his mustache, and she caught the exhale he let out at the sight of her. 

“You look like you’ve been better,” he commented, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. 

She laughed without a trace of humor to it, squaring her shoulders and stepping towards him. 

“Let’s just get this over with. Maybe we might even make the whole day without a threat to send me home, wouldn’t that be nice?” Before she could reach the door, Petya reached an arm out to her, grasping her shoulder. 

“You’ll–” he started, but seemed to flounder for words. 

The look that crossed her face was almost a smile, but not quite. By the end of the day, Nikolai would be Tzar and that was that, nothing she could truly do to avoid it. It wasn’t like she could bring Grisha back from the dead, hope as she might. He had been buried the day prior, the dirt she sprinkled on his coffin still embedded under her nails, rushed in an attempt to squeeze in just a touch more time planning Nikolai’s coronation. Both affairs were rushed, and from Vira’s perspective, sloppy. There was a desperation to get Nikolai on the throne as quickly as possible, the fear of another regicide hanging dark over their heads. It had been purposeful and planned and horrible to witness, and Vira was truly lucky that Grisha had not been considered under her care during the battle, or else his death would have been on her hands. 

“I will be fine.” She sighed. “Besides, the day isn’t about me, it’s about our bolsterious new king, isn’t it?” 

Petya grimaced. 

“Vasya–” his grip loosened and she easily stepped out of it, preferring the crowd of waiting soldiers outside her door than the single one inside who knew what she was really thinking. She heard Petya’s frustrated huff of air behind her as she pulled the door open to face her knights rather than him. 

The assembled kingsguard, all but a few who were guarding their next regent, looked up at her expectantly. Freshly scrubbed and neatly dressed, Vasya looked over each of her knights before beginning to speak. They were all meticulous in their dress, hair combed back with oil or tucked away in braids, silver buttons that caught the light against the dark jacket that marked the kingsguard from the rest of the soldiers that haunted the passageways of the castle. Dark and unassuming, their uniforms were usually meant as a way to blend in behind the Tzar, go unnoticed until the moment when they were needed. A few members of the royal family had the appropriate sashes and medals pinned across their chests, which left Vasya the plainest of them all. Her black buttons were muted in the light streaming in from the windows, no sash of her own, and she had elected not to wear any of the medals that had been given to her during her tenure as Captain. No doubt, Nikolai would see it as a slight that she hadn’t bothered to dress up for him, but they both knew the reality of the situation: Vasya was an empress in her own right and swore fealty to no king but herself. When her father died, she would return to Fars and rule with the experience she had gained abroad, that she was there at all, guarding Grisha’s, and now Nikolai’s life, was the product of an agreement between their fathers before she had even been born, something she was duty bound to see until the end. While no one had ever imagined that Grisha would die so young, the agreement stipulated that she would act as Captain of the Kingsguard until her father was no longer in a position to rule Fars, and that day had yet to come, so there she was, unadorned and unwilling to bend a knee to the newest Tzar of Rhos. 

“Ready?” She asked the knights, looking for their nods or murmurs of confirmation. They looked worried, apprehensive even. She didn’t blame them, she had hardly ever had a civil conversation with Nikolai in her life, and she doubted that would change now that he was expected to show a modicum of deference towards her. He couldn’t stand that she was the only one to openly criticize his charming facade, the face he put on for the courtiers, the ambassadors, the smooth way he spoke with the council to provide for his demands. She couldn’t stand that so many people were swayed by such short, sweet words. They were at an impasse neither was likely to breach. 

“Captain,” Marya tilted her chin up as she spoke. “Anything we should be aware of before the coronation?” 

Vasya hesitated before speaking.

“Guarding Nikolai will be very little like what guarding Grigory was. He is headstrong and temperamental, and unused to such close monitoring by a larger guard. He’s only ever had Alexei looking after him his whole life and now he has all of you to accompany him to his various daily activities. If he is uncooperative, or simply unwilling at first, then direct him to me. I am the one who will handle his ire, not you. It may be an adjustment before things return to a semblance of the normality we had with Grigory, and that’s fine, just keep doing as I ask of you until we reach that point and we will reach that point. Understood?” 

There was an echo of “yes Captain” that reached her from the assembled crowd of twenty, and she nodded before turning towards the coronation hall. 


	2. Chapter 2

She felt Petya fall into step behind her, but Vasya kept moving forward towards the coronation hall. It was a short walk, and while the castle had been filling with dignitaries and visiting nobles for the past week in preparation, their steps still echoed painfully off the marble flooring. 

They reached the chambers where the coronation would be held. Ornamented almost garishly with heavily perfumed flowers, Vasya barely suppressed the distaste that flited across her face at the overwhelming scent. The room was filled with heavy oak pews and thick brocades of flowers ornamenting them. It almost reminded Vasya of a wedding; the colors and the extravagance of it all. The thick, burgundy carpeting that ran the length of the isle was generously plush under the soles of her boots, and for a moment, she thought she might be able to get through the ceremony in one piece. The head of what was to be Nikoali’s privy council, Mikhail, stood at the top of the dais, muttering to himself as he paced the length of the uncarpeted floor. Vasya preferred to have little to do with the man as possible, so she gestured to Petya to handle whatever was bothering the old councillor. Petya went off with a pronounced eye roll, but she could hear the polite and respectful greeting he gave the councillor upon approach. 

She turned back to the rest of her guard. 

“Olya, Sasha, you’ll come with me to fetch his highness.” Twin looks of displeasure settled on their faces; Vasya ignored them. “The rest of you do a sweep of the room, check the balconies, the alcoves, even under the pews. There should be nothing in here that we are unaware of. Am I clear?”

A chorus of “yes Captain” responded, and Vasya let a small smile slip. 

“Well then, get to it.” She dismissed the guard as Olga and Alexander, the twins as they were affectionately known, walked up to her, almost petulantly. Their shining, golden hair was a compliment to the golden accents laden throughout the room, Olya’s neat braid sitting almost crownlike across the top of her head. 

“Why does it have to be us?” Olya didn’t quite whine, but it was a very near thing.

“Because he doesn’t try to bait you two, and I’m in no mood for his antics.” Vasya responded, unimpressed with their apparent resentment. 

“Yes but why do we have to be punished for that?” Sasha responded, his voice matching his sister’s whine. 

Vasya snorted. 

“If I have to deal with him, so do you. Now come along, or we’ll be late.” 

The two trailed behind her like ducklings following their mother as they made their way to the castle towards the wing Nikolai inhabited. Vasya murmured polite hellos to the different courtiers she passed making their way to the coronation hall; more than one lady blushed at the sight of the Captain, regal in her dress blacks, though less decoratively dressed than they had hoped. Vasya always had a gentle smile for the women who had had the courage to ask for a dance during a ball or two, much to Grisha’s never ending amusement. While Vasya had only taken a few lovers since she had become Captain, almost all of them had been women, which had led to somewhat of a reputation amongst the courtiers. 

“Captain!” 

Vasya took a deep breath. Yulya hadn’t quite been in pursuit of Vasya when things had begun between her and Grisha, but it had been a very near thing. Her curly hair was pinned in an intricate design, glittering with pearls. The lilac dress she wore hung off her dainty shoulders, exposing delicate collarbones and a beautiful yellow necklace sitting at the hollow of her throat. Her hazel eyes were filled with amusement, having caught Vasya after months of avoidance. 

Yulya stopped in the middle of the halway, shoes echoing brightly off the marble floors. Vasya caught her reflection in the mirror just beyond the other woman’s shoulder, the blank look on her face as she stood in front of the courtier, the contrast in their clothing, the slightness of Yulya’s frame as compared to her own. 

“My lady,” Vasya responded, a beat late, as she bowed slightly in acknowledgement. 

Yulya held her hand out for Vasya to take, and Vasya brushed her lips across the other woman’s knuckles. 

“My deepest condolences, Captain.” Yulya’s face was carefully composed, the amusement giving way to genuine sadness beneath. “He was a great loss for all of us, but for you most particularly.” Her fingers gently squeezed Vasya’s own before she let go. 

“He was, as you said, a great loss for all of us.” Vasya responded, a tightness swelling in her chest. “My lady, you must excuse me.” 

Vasya strode past the other woman without another glance, almost barreling through the hallway in her haste to reach Nikolai’s rooms. All throughout the funeral, people had approached her offering their condolences for her loss, putting her in an awkward position across from Nikolai, who’s own brother lay cold in the ground but was not nearly as consoled as Vasya had been. It had been an uncomfortable, tense affair, and Vasya loathed to think that they had been so discreet as for the whole castle to know that she and Grisha had been together, in whatever capacity apart from the official. 

The pale green hallways that lead her to Nikolai’s wing had always been a comfort to her, bright and welcoming, with the occasional touch of gold here and there. They were familiar hallways, her home since she had graduated from the academy. But now they felt cold and unfamiliar, bleak and unhappy in the wake of Grisha’s death. She barely registered herself in the many mirrors that lined the walls as the tap tap tap of their collective boots echoed off the floors and through the corridors. 

“Captain,” Olya quipped behind her. “I was unaware we were running a race.” 

Vasya rolled her eyes in response but slowed her pace so that the twins could catch up to her. At least this time she wouldn’t have to face Nikolai alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my first time posting original fic, and the first time im trying my hand at telling this story that i've wanted to tell for years, so drop me a line tell me what you think


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